


Keep Your Hands Cold (and I'll Keep Your Heart Warm)

by ViolentAddict



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: And he's really oblivious, Angel Clint, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Dark Humor, Dark Steve, Demon Natasha, Edited and Modified, M/M, Reaper Bucky, Steve is Morally Ambiguous, Steve's a bit happy-go-lucky, Story Revisited, This Whole Thing is Morbid, based on a tumblr prompt, but it's fun to write, rated M FOR MURDER, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentAddict/pseuds/ViolentAddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Formerly entitled 'I Will Follow You Into the Dark'. Edited and modified! </p><p>Naturally, Steve Rogers finds the meaning of life when he meets Death. Some may call it fatal attraction but to Steve, it's the beginning of something beautiful...</p><p>Wherein Bucky Barnes is the grim reaper who listens to Metallica and wears mostly black, while Steve is his morally ambiguous, obliviously silly, bisexual stalker. Steve will go to great lengths to keep seeing Bucky, because they have a love worth killing for...and what's love worth if not a little sacrifice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't You Wanna Feel My Bones On Your Bones?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys! I'm back. I had to rewrite this because I felt that it needed some work. I'm sorry if you guys liked the old chapter, but I promise, I'll try to update this one a lot more. This fic was inspired by an old Tumblr post that I've been dying to write a fic for but never got around to it. Special thanks to my friend Judy for the help!
> 
> And thank you for reading, if you have, my other Stucky fics, I appreciate that! 
> 
> Warning: This is meant to be a comedy of sorts. My sense of humor tends to be morbid sometimes. I'm trying to base it on the post but it may veer a bit far from it and it also might have some characters acting OOC. I also saw CA:CW and I loved it so much. And I was inspired somehow to write this. ^_^
> 
> Please enjoy.

There is something wrong with Peggy. And it’s not just because she’s like eighty years old, though that could have something to do with it. The primary concern is a wracking cough that has shaken her every minute since Steve stepped into her apartment. She also looks super pale and blue? No that can’t be right. Can it? Yep, she’s blue. Steve’s no doctor, but he’s sure that people aren’t supposed to be blue.   
  


“Peggy? I came to check in on you. Since you’re not feeling well and all.”   
  


“Call 911, I think I’m dying.”   
  


“Holy Shit,” Steve thinks. He pulls out his phone and does as she requests of him. He rattles off the address to the dispatcher while trying to keep calm. “It’s going to be fine,” he reassures Peggy, but even to his ears, it sounds like a lie.   
  


* * *

Steve’s in Peggy’s hospital room, fighting sleep to be there for moral support. She’s sleeping soundly, finally resting after her pneumonia scare. Her niece, Sharon, had come in earlier and was distressed by the diagnosis given the precarious state of her Aunt's health. “Freaked out is what she was,” Steve thinks to himself.  Steve supposes that means that Peggy’s going to have to fight harder than ever just to live. “I better say a few words to her,” Steve thinks. She’s been his neighbor for years, and he’s always been there for her. She never failed to tell him how much of a good person she thought he was, and it always made him feel special hearing her say that. He supposes that he should return the favor. “Well old gal, hope you’re good and ready to fight. I don’t know how bad this is going to get for you, but I do know you’re a tough old bird, so you better not disappoint me. I just want to say that it’s been an honor being your neighbor.” He internally cringes at that. He’s always struggled with finding the right words, but this was just terrible.   
  


Sighing, he moves back to his seat. Luckily Peggy’s too passed out on pain meds to witness this humiliating moment. He’s texting his best friend and coworker, Sam, informing him of the wild day he’s been having when the sound of clapping startles him. “Wh-who’s there?” He stares about the room wildly, since when did it get so dark and... _ cold _ ? A figure moves forward in the darkness - he can see it even in the dim light shining from the hall. Steve, brandishing his phone as a weapon, repeats his question.   
  


“Amazing speech, but I wouldn’t advise quitting your day job anytime soon.” Someone says. Steve’s heart is hammering fast in his chest, and his body is on edge. He can’t see much, no matter how hard he tries. It’s unsettling. He needs to press the nurse’s buzzer, have someone come in. Getting up, he tries to be stealthy about it, but he trips on air and falls unceremoniously onto the floor. A switch flips and a blinding light suddenly fills the room. Once his eyes adjust he looks over and sees the person, standing by the door, arms folded and frowning in his direction, obviously unimpressed.   
  


“I meant to do that,” Steve says shrugging. The guy raises an eyebrow.   
  


“You meant to fall and make an ass of yourself?”   
  


“Yeah?”   
  


The man smirks.   
  


“Well, congrats, it was a success,” He comes over to Peggy. “Now, should I expect any more tricks from you or can I do my job?”   
  


“You’re not a body snatcher are you?” Steve inquires, shocked. The man stares at Steve as if he’s grown three heads.   
  


“No, I’m not a -  _ Jesus _ \- a body snatcher. What I am is possibly way too complex for you to understand.”   
  


“Try me.” Steve challenges. The guy, who from Steve’s view, is very handsome -he’s wearing a Metallica shirt and faded grey jeans. His skin is pale but smooth, flawless looking and his sullen eyes are winter blue-grey. His dark, shoulder-length hair falls around his face, and it suits him well. The guy sighs before it all goes quiet. He closes his eyes in concentration while Steve looks on. Suddenly, the temperature seems to drop so much that their breath comes out in a steamy plume. Steve coughs, lungs aching from the dry, cold air, and when he looks up, the guy is nowhere to be seen, in his place a skeleton lounges.   
  


“What- what are you?” Steve chokes out. The situation’s seemed unreal, crazy.   
  


“I, foolish mortal, am the Grim Reaper….nah, it’s not that dramatic.” He laughs.   
  


Steve cannot process what he is seeing. He feels the world going dark, the black void calling to him and he promptly faints. When he comes to, the guy is still there, except now he looks remarkably less skeletal. “Hey pal, you okay?” Steve nods,   
  


“Yeah, I just lost consciousness- where’s Peggy?” The guy looks over at the empty hospital bed.   
  


“Oh yeah, I harvested her soul. Thanks for being a good sport. See you, when it’s your turn I guess.” Steve blinks slowly, unsure of what just happened.   
  


“Uh, hey fella I don’t think I can just let you do…” He trails off when he sees the guy’s face about to take on the form of the scary skeleton thing again. “You know what? I’m sure she’s in a better place.” The guy looks unamused. Then, with a wave of the Reaper’s hand, Peggy’s now apparently lifeless body is back on the bed.   
  


“I’m gonna go now,” this strange interloper says. Steve’s still trying to wrap his mind around the situation before him when he gets the foolhardy idea to touch the guy. The resulting sensation is like an electric shock, that also drains the energy from him so fast he’s helpless. The man pulls him off. “Yeah, touching me is a bad idea. I’m going to leave now so you can say a few more awkward words to your friend.”   
  


“Umm wait, do you like coffee?” The man frowns in response.   
  


“I’m leaving now.” Steve pouts.   
  


“At least tell me your name,” he asks. The figure - Reaper, actually nearly smiles at that.   
  


“Really? I just harvested your friend’s soul, and you’re flirting with me? I feel as if this is the setup of a really bad joke.”   
  


“Or the beginning of a beautiful friendship?”  Steve laughs.   
  


“If I tell you my name would you promise to leave me alone, like forever?”   
  


“Maybe.”  Steve has his fingers crossed behind his back.   
  


“It’s Bucky.”   
  


Steve rolls the name across his tongue, liking it already. He’s about to ask Bucky on a date again, when there’s the rumble of thunder and when he looks up Bucky’s nowhere in sight. Someone opens the door.   
  


“Hey Steve, I’ve calmed down, you can go home now –  Aunt Peggy? What… oh no!”   
  


Steve, like a deer caught in headlights, blinks, startled. But he manages to croak out.   
  


“She’s dead.”   
  


Sharon’s screams can be heard the next town over.

  
  



	2. For Whom the Bell Tolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a crush on Death. He doesn't think there's a Peter Gabriel song around suitable enough for situations as odd as this. Things are..complicated, but then again, when are they ever not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! How are you? Sorry for the long delay! It's been crazy haha.
> 
> Thank you all for being so awesome! The kudos/hits/bookmarks/ comments are appreciated. <3
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter. ;)

The sky above is grey and cloudy, the right atmosphere for a day like this. Steve sincerely hopes that it rains today. He’s always heard that if it rains at someone’s funeral, they’re going to heaven. It’s the only time he’ll ever hope for poor weather. 

 

Peggy deserves to be with the angels, he can’t imagine a more fitting place for her soul. 

 

They’re at the graveyard, listening to the priest say the final words, surrounded by the hole that Peggy’s lifeless body will stay for eternity. Steve can’t help but peek down. Six feet isn’t shallow at all. To fall down one of those holes would be his worst nightmare.

 

He doesn’t realize that he’s visibly cringed until Sam’s voice cuts into his thoughts. “You okay, man?”

 

Steve’s wide blue eyes blink and he takes a long look around. Everyone looks sad and glum. At least a few people are crying, Sharon being the loudest. He nods reassuringly to his friend. But really Steve just wants to go home. He’s paid his respects. Said a few words in remembrance to Peggy. Though, admittedly, there wasn’t much to say and standing there was more than a little awkward seeing that the only people he knows are Sharon and Sam.

 

He’s feeling a little suffocated. He will miss Peggy, and he’s glad he came, but this is quickly becoming uncomfortable. 

 

Finally, after what seems like  _ hours  _ but can’t have been longer than ten minutes, they are placing the last rose on the fresh dirt of Peggy’s grave signaling the time for everyone to depart. Steve wants to zip out of there, but he’s Sam’s ride and Sam is preoccupied saying his condolences to Peggy’s relatives. It will look awful if Steve just high tails it, especially without saying a word or two to Sharon.

 

He finds her, surrounded by people expressing their sympathies. It doesn’t seem as if she’s even hearing what they’re saying. She looks so pale it’s like she’s fading away. His heart goes out to her.  _ This must be hard -  to lose her aunt so abruptly. She must be really strong to not have fallen apart completely since hearing the news. _

 

Once most of the small crowd surrounding her dissipates a bit, Steve scoots beside her. “As far as funerals go, this was a beautiful service. Peggy would not have wanted it any other way.” He smiles. 

 

Her lips tilt slightly as her gaze falls to her clasped hands where she’s holding a crumpled tissue. “That means a lot, Steve.” 

 

He nods. “Well, it’s the truth.”

 

Sharon brushes a loose tendril of blonde hair out of her face. “I’m going to miss her a lot. It’s not going to be the same without her, that much is guaranteed.”

 

“You’re tough, it’s obvious and commendable, really. You’ll be fine,” Steve assures. Her eyes crease at the corners and in an instant, Sharon seems ten years younger. As if a small fraction of the invisible weight pressing her down, has been lifted a bit.

 

“Thank you. For being there for my aunt and being one of the people she trusted the most. She talked about you so much. It was nice that she had a person she looked forward to seeing, especially in her last days.”

 

Steve doesn’t really know what to say. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to him. He’s nearly speechless. “She was my favorite neighbor. I don’t think anyone brought as much joy to our apartment complex as she did.”

Sharon nods and to Steve, she seems to look more like her old self. He only really knew her when she’d stop by the complex once or twice a month to visit Peggy.  He didn’t know much else about her other than she lived across the city and always dressed in stuffy pantsuits. Peggy liked to boast that Sharon was single. Although she wasn’t really Steve’s type, from their limited interactions, Sharon seemed nice enough. 

 

“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask me,” she offers, fiddling with the tissue. “It’s the least I can -”

 

But Steve raises a protesting hand. “There’s no need. Really, if  _ you _ need anything, I’ll still be in 3C,” he says.

 

“Well,” Sharon says, grabbing her purse and seizing a piece of paper. “At least take my number down. Now where did I put that pen...” She’s fishing in her bag for it when Steve takes the opportunity to scan the whittling crowd for Sam. He spots him over at a car nearby talking to two older men, seeming to have lightened up now that the funeral is over and the day is naturally progressing. His friend and coworker is laughing easily. The weight on his shoulders that Steve had noticed was making Sam a little deflated, has definitely vanished. There’s no question that Sam hates funerals more than Steve, but at least now, the melancholy is lifting. 

 

Although funerals aren’t everyone’s favorite places to get together, it is a social gathering of sorts. And it doesn’t always have to be sad. Steve wonders briefly what his funeral would be like if he were to kick the bucket. Would it have so many old people? And if not, would the younger people attending even understand the weight of their mortality? Of their numbered days?

 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he feels a cold breeze float across his skin, leaving behind a lingering chill that immediately makes him shudder. He stares up at the sky. It’s mid-May and the poor bout of weather they were having before has dissipated. The sun is bright in the blue sky promising more warmth later. 

 

He looks about the graveyard but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary at first. That is until Steve’s gaze drifts over to Sam and the old guys, where standing a few grave markers away is the Reaper. Wearing a long-sleeved Pantera shirt, a cool looking scythe by his feet, Bucky is staring hard at one of the older men. Though even through his concentration, he looks bored as all hell.  _ No wonder it’s hard to notice him - everyone here is mainly wearing black and looking glum, Bucky basically fits in with the crowd like a chameleon. _

 

“Found it!” Sharon shouts weilding the evasive writing instrument like a fisherman with her prized catch.

 

But Steve’s barely listening. “Text it to me,” he says as he walks away leaving her to look back at him with mere confusion.

 

Like a man possessed he keeps walking until he’s standing next to Bucky. The Reaper’s presence brings goosebumps to Steve’s skin but he doesn’t care. It’s like a rush that Steve may never get used to but is unwilling to part with. 

 

“Come here often?”  He grins at his own cheesy line. He doesn’t miss the frosty glare Bucky throws his way.

 

“Funny,” his lips are pressed into a thin line. 

 

Steve’s eyes never leaves Bucky’s face. It’s hard to believe that someone so handsome can turn skeletal and freaky in a matter of seconds. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were stalking me,” Steve says, raising an eyebrow.

 

A hint of a smile crosses Bucky’s face.  “Somehow I don’t think my reasons for stalking you would be the reasons you’d want,” he quips. “Don’t you have other things to do than bother me while I’m working?”

 

Steve shrugs. “You know how to get me to go away,” he teases. “You never told me if you liked coffee or not.”

 

“I’m not going out with you,” Bucky says simply before gesturing to the older man again. “Working.”

 

“You’re going to harvest his soul?” Steve blinks.

 

“Well, I’m not taking him out dancing,” Bucky mumbles.

 

Steve feels a hint of panic rising in his chest. “Right here? You’re taking his soul right here?” 

 

Bucky lets out a great sigh. “He’s due in three days. I need to be around when he finally bites the dust.” Both their gazes drift to death’s new target. The older man doesn’t really look  _ that _ old to Steve, sure his hair’s white and he’s sporting a few wrinkles but he looks just as spritely as most of the people here. Still, it’s not Steve’s place to say. 

 

Finally, Bucky turns to him, “Do you have any more questions?” 

 

Steve winks lasciviously. “Just one.”

 

“The answer is no.”

 

“I’m prepared to be persistent.”

 

“I’m prepared to turn you down every time.”

 

“Hey, Steve. Johnny says there’s a cool bar a couple miles from here. Figured we should get a little tipsy before work starts up again tomorrow. What are you doing over here?” Sam’s voice cuts in.

 

Steve stares across at Bucky by way of explanation, but Bucky simply smirks, saying, “I’m invisible to most humans, idiot.”

 

“No one,” Steve shrugs. “I wanted to be alone with my thoughts.” 

 

Sam probably knows Steve’s bullshitting as throughout the five or so years of their friendship, Steve has probably successfully lied once. He’s a pretty terrible liar. But Sam, to Steve’s surprise, appears to buy it this time. “Do you need a little more time?” he searches Steve’s gaze as if trying to decipher how much emotional pain Steve’s in.

 

Steve has no idea what he looks like but he just nods. Apparently his expression is enough to convince Sam because the man walks away. Not without first assuring Steve that he’ll be nearby and requesting Steve hurry up lest his new friends leave without them. 

 

“I think a drink will do you good too,” Steve suggests, stepping closer to Bucky. The Reaper is tall, but Steve is a few inches taller. For someone who possesses the power to morph into a skeleton, Bucky’s not waif thin either. Instead, he’s really muscular and sturdy. But Steve can’t help but think that under that tough exterior and the dark clothes and combat boots, Bucky’s still too appealing to be the Grim Reaper. He’s no expert, but he does not think Death is supposed to be this pretty or anything other than repulsive.

 

Bucky’s eyes are back on the older man across the cemetary who is now listening, rapt, to whatever Sam is saying. “I clearly remember you promising to leave me alone forever if I told you my name,” he mumbles, irritated.  

 

“You can’t blame a guy for breaking a promise to get closer to you, now can you?” 

 

Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what bothers me more: your determination or the fact that you’re making a lot of unintentional puns,” he mutters. “And when I’m working, I don’t fraternize with mortals. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m requested to help a soul cross to the other side in Mykonos.” He moves to pick his scythe up before Steve tries to stop him. Luckily he has the chilling memory of what happened last time to remind himself not to touch Bucky again, so instead he settles with “Wait!”

 

It works - Bucky doesn’t leave yet, he just stares at Steve expectantly. 

 

Steve fumbles a bit before finding the words. “It isn’t my intention to make your job harder. At the very least, I just want to be your friend. Would you allow that?” 

 

That smile appears again and although it’s faint, it lights up Bucky’s face drastically. Even though his lively eyes and soft smile add to his very human appearance, Bucky’s presence is still great and otherworldly. It’s nice to see some humanity in someone far from being one. Steve can see himself easily letting time pass as he tries to make Bucky’s expression change from its ever-present scowl to a happier expression. “You should be afraid of me. If you know what’s good for you,” Bucky warns. His voice takes on a bitter edge when he says, “I’ll probably just end up hurting you.”

 

Steve says nothing. Like Icarus drawn to the sun, he finds himself inching closer to Bucky. “I think I prefer the things that’ll do me in rather than the things meant to make me safe.” 

 

“That’s ridiculous.”

 

“It’s the truth.” Steve shrugs. Sam calls out to him and Steve turns, giving his friend a wave signaling that he’ll come over in a minute. When Steve turns to tell Bucky goodbye, Bucky’s already gone, the only proof that he was here being the hushed  _ whoosh _ of a gust of wind blowing across Steve’s skin. A chilly contrast to the warm Spring air.

 

When he catches up to Sam, the man watches Steve carefully as if searching for signs of hysteria. “Had fun talking to yourself?” he teases.

 

Steve grins, but doesn’t say much. Even when they arrive at the bar a few minutes later with Sam’s new friends, Steve spends most of the time silently trying to understand why he gets such a thrill from being around Bucky. It’s more than just Bucky being forbidden and off limits, it’s the fact that somewhere, someone declared Death to be unloveable and worthy to be hated. He wants to prove that person wrong. Wants to burn all the books and paintings that decree Bucky as something meant to be feared. Because what is more natural than death? The unnatural thing is to ignore such a simple fact of life. 

 

Bucky isn’t cruel for doing his job. Why hate him?

 

In the end they aren’t that different, Bucky and he. They have similar demons. Steve’s not afraid that Bucky can turn him to dust, he’s more afraid of Bucky breaking his heart. He can appreciate death for being one of the few certainties in life, he can appreciate Bucky for reminding him of that. He really can’t bring himself to be afraid of Bucky nor can he believe that Bucky really and truly wants to be alone. Maybe he’s hiding something? Whatever it is, Steve wants to find out. Whatever it takes.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! More to come soon! ;)


	3. Something's Gotta Give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though it still has a shit ton of renovating to do and her boss is a hellion, running the underworld is proving to be a worthwhile job for Pepper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> I want to thank you all for reading and sticking with this story! I appreciate the love and support and of course, your patience. <3
> 
> More to come soon! ;)

Pepper Potts grins, delighting in the wide view of the underworld before her. Everything is as it should be - their communication with Elysium is back up and running, _finally._   _And_ she no longer has Hades breathing down her neck every waking minute - _that_ was seriously beginning to get on her nerves. You’d think after witnessing her bring order to this place he’d learn to have some faith in her. Then again he’s way too stubborn and prideful to even give her a thank you. It’s a mystery why she thinks he’ll suddenly improve his leadership skills.

 

What she would do for some vacation time! When she was working for Demeter, there wasn’t this much friction. She’s a damn good personal assistant; if only her current boss could see that. Yeah, he’s intimidated by her - it happens when people learn that she’s even smarter than she looks - but why can’t he admit he’s impressed too?

 

Though it still has a shit ton of renovating to do and her boss is a hellion, running the underworld is proving to be a worthwhile job. It’s been half a century and she’s managed to whip the place into shape and earn the respect of the Reapers. That’s a step up in her book.

 

Like any job, it does have its bad days, but down here a bad day is a day where there’s nothing to do. And despite it being the underworld, there are a _lot_ of those days. Hell could be a complete drag sometimes.

 

At least with the underworld being under construction, everyone’s been keeping busy. Sure, once in awhile a Reaper will come in and demand a more respectable job - at least the entitled ones would -  but usually after one feeding session with Cerberus they’d change their tune.

 

 _I think I’m the best thing to ever happen to this place_ , she thinks as she’s settling down in her chair, _Hell has never looked so good._ But someone - there’s always someone - knocks on her door, interrupting her musing.

 

Pepper doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. In this world where time is irrelevant and everything just moves in one endless loop, there is only one constant that - as far as she knows - never changes. An incredibly predictable occurrence which also happens to be one of the few stable things in her life. She’d laugh at that fact, if it wasn’t pathetic.

 

“How may I help you, Thor?” she asks, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. She swivels the chair around and closes her eyes briefly in an attempt to calm herself down.

 

He pushes the door open and walks in with a cheerful confidence that really shouldn’t belong there - she always turns down his request and yet he always seems to expect different. He’s naturally an upbeat person - too many of these visits have proven that - but Pepper is _never_ in the mood to deal with Mr. Sunshine.

 

“I need to be the Grim Reaper,” Thor says, taking a seat. Pepper sighs, internally grateful that he hasn’t decided to beat around the bush this time. His new tactic is going to be just as successful as the others, but at least he’s keeping things interesting.

 

She gives him a perfunctory smile. “Now, Thor. You _know_ I can’t do that. Bucky’s been doing this for nearly a century and he’s excellent at his job.”

 

Thor’s brow furrows before he schools his face into one of peace. “That’s a century of waiting for him to give up his position. I’d like a turn and I am tired of waiting.” Then, when he remembers who he’s talking to: “I mean, with all due respect, ma’am.”

 

“This isn’t a chance for you to climb the monkey bars at the school playground, Thor. This is a serious responsibility. These are human beings who once lived, they are going to be scared and overwhelmed. Handling souls takes a certain sensibility and should be treated delicately.” She smoothes the flyaway blonde hair from her chignon with her palms - this whole speech is getting old. Thor’s not dense, but if he doesn’t get the point by now, then she’ll just accept that he never will. It’s definitely a tempting idea to assign him to the construction level so he’d be too preoccupied to think about being the head Reaper, but renovation is almost finished. Besides, she doesn’t fully trust Thor with a scythe, and though it is smaller and less deadly, a hammer is no exception.

 

“But you believe Bucky’s capable of being sensitive?” The skepticism’s practically dripping from his words.

 

Pepper shrugs. “Beats me. But I don’t have anything bad to say about him. He doesn’t break the rules of conduct, he has never taken a sick day _and_ he doesn’t complain.” Her eyes meet his and she sees a hint of defeat behind the dwindling confidence, she’s sure he sees nothing but victory in hers. “He’s pretty much the best at what he does.”

 

Thor raises an eyebrow. “And what if he messes up, then what happens? Who can you rely on?”

 

“Well, it is highly unlikely. He’s been here since before I arrived and Hades has never so much as reported a minor error in Bucky’s work. However, if Bucky  _were_ to screw up, he’d have to have done something major to put his job in jeopardy. He could face suspension, possible mortality and maybe even a loss of his position. But the Reaper who has to replace him will have his work cut out for him. Bucky's shoes are going to be pretty big to fill.”

 

Thor’s never asked these questions before, but it isn’t hard to see where he’s getting at. “You want to know if you can replace him if it all goes to shit?” Pepper asks, unable to hide the mirth from her voice.

 

Thor nods, feigning casual curiosity. It doesn’t fool Pepper for a second. “Well, I’ll tell you what. If Bucky screws up, you can be the Reaper that replaces him.” Now it’s _her_ turn to be confident. Bucky won’t screw up.

 

Thor’s face lights up into a bright smile. “Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

“Because I know something.”

 

Pepper freezes. “What-what do you know?”

 

Thor’s grin widens. “There’s a man, a man who can _see_ Reapers and Bucky's aware of his existence.”

 

“What?” He has to be lying. Bucky wouldn’t fail to report that person to her. That would be _a very foolish move_ and Bucky wouldn’t risk his job like that. “How do you know this?”

 

Thor fiddles with a paperweight on her desk. Its glass and has blue dolphins. She got it because it reminded her of cooler, more tropical places. Though the more she looks at it, the more she’s reminded of the long overdue vacation she has yet to take. “I know things.”

 

She swallows. “Well, one harmless human won’t lead to the end of the world. I’m sure Bucky’s going to take care of it. He will deal with him - whoever he is.” And it’s the truth. Bucky’s reliable, he’s always been. She can count on him to do the right thing. There’s no need to be alarmed.

 

Thor frowns and blood leeches from his knuckles as he grips the arm of the chair. “We will just have to see about that.”

 

But Pepper turns her chair around to face the view again - Thor’s cue to leave. “Better luck next time, I suppose,” she says, waving a dismissive hand in the air. She doesn’t hear his gritted out response because she’s already moved onto thinking about her next move. Starting with giving a certain Grim Reaper a not-so-cordial phone call...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come pretty soon!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Do You Have Room for One More Troubled Soul?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is not having a great day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Fall Out Boy's 'Alone Together'.
> 
> Hey guys! How are you? I hope you're alright. I want to thank you for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, everything! Thank you, seriously. Glad to see that you guys are enjoying the story so far, and I hope you enjoy it more as it progresses.
> 
> <3333
> 
> P.S. I'm not sure what state I'm setting this story in but for right now, I'm leaning on Pennsylvania. :)

Johnson Walker’s mansion is an impressive thing - it’s taller than most of the buildings in Canonsburg and stands just as proud as the man living within its red brick walls. Some in the town even consider it a national monument built for a great American hero. With its white columns, huge picture windows and almost twelve foot high gables, it’s not hard to see why. This place reeks of patriotism - it’s even painted red, white and blue.

 

Just by standing near it Bucky knows he’s going to return to the underworld smelling of liberty and apple pie - essence of America is going to be a bitch to get out of his robe.

 

_But regardless, it’s time to work._

 

With a wave of his hand, he’s inside Walker’s house. It’s remarkably less chauvinistic in here than it is on the outside. Bucky cracks a smile - humans are so decorative. They reveal so much of their personalities even just by the color of curtains they pick.

 

Bucky almost feels like he’s intruding, as if his eyes aren’t meant to see the old pictures of Walker with his fellow soldiers. Or the pictures of him with his family, his grandkids, his son, his friends. The truth is, he can’t help but stare at the photos and knick knacks; they remind him of the lives that were once here, the people with their thoughts and wishes, hopes, and dreams. It makes him feel a bit connected. Like he could imagine being a part of the surface world instead of just an observer.

 

It helps him feel a little less hollow.

 

Walker is lying on the kitchen floor by the fridge. His stroke was quick and sudden but he suffered a head wound and that’s the reason for all the blood. It’s a good thing Bucky got here when he did because Walker’s soul is hovering over the body, eyes pinned to his cooling corpse and mouth open in a wordless cry.

 

He doesn’t appear to have seen Bucky, but that’s okay. They can take this easy.

 

“Johnson - Johnson Walker?” Bucky asks, he isn’t skeletal now but that means very little to people who have just passed. Their lives are over, their bodies are starting to settle like agitated dust in still air. It takes them a bit to process all this.

 

As Bucky expects, Walker doesn’t reply. Taking a step back to show that he means no harm, Bucky says, “You lived a great life Mr. Walker, but the sand in your hourglass is empty. I am here to escort you to the other side, though there’s no rush. We can take as long -” He doesn’t say much before he’s interrupted - _seriously_ \-  by the ringing of the doorbell.

 

_Who the hell can that be?_ “Um, stay here Mr. Walker,” he urges, though it’s completely unnecessary as Walker doesn’t seem the least bit inclined to abandon his lifeless body on the floor and...there really is nowhere he can go. At least, not without Bucky - it’s not like souls hold the key to the other worlds.

 

Bucky stalks over to the door. His presence is usually enough to scare away anything with a pulse within a ten-mile radius. It’s mainly why he goes unbothered _most_ of the time; because subconsciously, humans know to not to go near him.

 

Well, _sane_ humans do. “Is anyone home?” The blond guy that Bucky can’t seem to escape calls out. Bucky curses. _Maybe if we keep quiet, he’ll go away._

 

But that damn Walker suddenly finds his mouth and shouts back a rather enthusiastic - like he’s at a ballgame instead of at the scene of his death - “Hey, Steve!”

 

Bucky frowns. “He can’t hear you,” he explains. “You’re dead.”

 

Today just isn’t Bucky’s day, apparently, because that Steve guy doesn’t leave. “Johnny, I came to check up on you. You didn’t look so good last night, buddy.”

 

_Okay, be professional._ Bucky draws the door open. “What do you want?” _Perfect._

 

Steve stands there on the front porch, he’s wearing dark wash jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt, looking more laidback and casual than the last time Bucky saw him. His bright blue eyes light up when he sees the Reaper. But there’s no fear there, just incredible curiosity and elation. Bucky’s frown deepens.

 

“You’re getting more breathtaking every time I see you,” Steve points out, voice low and silky.

 

“Buzz off, Casanova. I’m working. Once again.” Bucky gestures vaguely in Walker’s direction.

 

Steve’s eyes leave his face and they darken with worry when he spots something in the room. “Jeez, Johnny. You aren’t looking too good.”

 

_Wait a second - did he just-_ “You can _see_ him?”

 

Steve shrugs. “Am I not supposed to?”

 

“Um no...he’s dead.”

 

“Shit, Johnny. Your clock ran out, huh? It’s a damn shame.” He walks past Bucky - who is finding it impossible to do anything else but stare at the two of them - to speak to his friend. “At least you’ll see Harriet right?”

 

“Yeah, but I’d rather see Janice.”

 

“You hound dog.”

 

Bucky blinks. _This is turning out to be quite a day._ “Right, well we don’t have all morning.”

 

“Steve, you know this guy?” Johnny asks, pointing at Bucky.

 

Steve grins wide and toothy like a proud member of some mystical, secret club that only he and Bucky know about. “Yeah, we met at my apartment complex. He’s the Grim Reaper.”

 

“I can introduce myself, thanks,” Bucky mumbles.

 

“Well, I’ll be. You saw Death and lived to tell about it.”

 

“Yeah, pretty cool, right?”

 

“So sorry to end this bizarre little whatever it is you guys are doing, but we have to go,” Bucky says, eyes drifting between the two of them. “I don’t know why you can see souls or why you can see me.” He turns to Steve. “Maybe you’re some type of wizard. Whatever the case, it’s a bit unsettling how you are always around.”

 

Steve says nothing, his face is pale but unreadable.

 

“I mean, if you want to see him so bad, just kill someone. You shave ten years off your life for every person you kill, you know? Then you can talk Hades’ ear off. He’d appreciate your puns,” Bucky teases.

 

Steve’s eyes light up and a huge smile crests his face. He seems to get some color back too. “Would that mean that I would see you a lot more often as well?”

 

Bucky doesn’t think before he answers. “Well, yeah.”

 

Steve disappears pretty quickly after that. _Wow, if I had known all it would take to get rid of him would be to joke about murder, I’d have done it a long time ago... Wait._ “Of course, I did not mean that literally!” he calls out quickly, hoping somehow that Steve hears him. And yet even he knows he’s up shit creek.

 

When he turns around, Walker is watching him. “Did you mean that figuratively?”

 

“Shut up,” he mumbles, reaching for his scythe. Everyone’s a wise-ass.

 

When Pepper calls later that day, he’s only hoping she’s telling him that she’s going to Bora Bora or something. But Bucky’s luck has always been of a screw you and everything you care about persuasion. And though he may be the big bad Grim Reaper, nothing scares him more than Pepper Potts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! More to come soon! Stay tuned!
> 
> What is the key that Bucky carries with him called? A skeleton key! I think I laughed too hard at that joke. XD


	5. All I Want (is to Know You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve contemplates his decision while Nat and Clint debate his mental state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for returning! Hope you like this chapter! Thank you for the kudos/subscriptions/bookmarks. You all are amazing! <3
> 
> Chapter Inspiration: Kodaline - 'All I Want'
> 
> P.S. Sorry I took forever with this one! I appreciate your patience!

_ “All I want is nothing more _ _   
_ _ To hear you knocking at my door _ _   
_ _ 'Cause if I could see your face once more _ _   
_ __ I could die a happy man I'm sure”

 

\- ‘All I Want’, Kodaline

* * *

 

The church is quiet; there’s hardly a sound save for the harsh  _ whoosh _ of the wind as it howls outside, wild and unforgiving, brutal in ways nature should never be. Steve shuts the door behind him, glad to be indoors and away from the angry weather.

 

A storm has been brewing. The sky hasn’t promised anything even remotely good since Steve left work a few hours ago. These kind of conditions promise nothing but trouble and bad news.  _  At least it’s nice and warm in here.  _ Should the rain come, he’ll have a place of refuge.

 

It smells sweetly of damiscus rose and old votive candles, pleasant, calming. He used to come here before, not particularly every Sunday, but often enough to be a familiar face. He practically grew up with this church. It brings back great memories of feeling at one with the community and just having somewhere to go when life became too much. A place to escape.

 

The thing is, most people attend church to ensure they’ll have an awesome afterlife. So, when death finally greets them, they’ll be ready and would have lived a life without regrets, full of joy, and all that jazz. Steve had realized that some time ago. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with making sure you’re covered in the next life, but that isn’t Steve’s philosophy. At least, not anymore. 

 

He’s long lost the fear of a shitty afterlife, in fact he  _ expects _ his to be a complete hell pit. 

 

Because nothing about what he plans to do is even remotely okay or right. To think he can possibly get out with a clean slate is preposterous. He is damned, of course, but every bone in his body is telling him that Bucky’s worth it. 

 

Bucky’s been haunting his dreams almost every night since their last encounter, nearly driving Steve mad with confusion and something so potent it leaves him reeling:  _ longing _ . They aren’t nightmares, no, they’re the best damn dreams Steve’s ever had in a long time _. _

 

Within each of them, Bucky is there, pale, cold, transcendental. He always appears to be waiting for something. Steve never hesitates - another person probably would - but, as usual, his self-preservation skills easily go on the fritz in Bucky’s presence. He moves to stand in front of the Reaper, and automatically the goosebumps break across his skin from death’s proximity. 

 

Once he’s in front of the Reaper, Bucky’s glacial blue eyes meet his. It’s as if Bucky’s in pain, tortured by something Steve can’t see. He reaches out to touch him, to reassure him that there’s nothing to be afraid of. 

But it never goes well - as soon as his palm rises to trace Bucky’s cheek, the pale smooth skin beneath his fingers begins to fracture like porcelain. He tries to pull his hand back but like a magnet drawn to ore, it stubbornly refuses to cooperate. Bucky glares at him, betrayed.  _ You’re hurting me. _

 

He wakes up not too long after that, almost always in a cold sweat. A single word lodged in his throat:  _ no. _

 

Steve doesn’t really know what the dreams mean, but he suspects the universe is trying to tell him that his mortality is seriously hurting his chances. He can’t have that. If sacrificing his humanity is all it takes to be by Bucky’s side, then he’ll do it. It’s honestly a pitifully small price to pay for getting to spend forever with him, not much of a trade off at all. So he’d taint his soul, shave a few years off his life and take a few others in the process, at least he’d be going out with a bang, right?

 

The wooden pew is hard, but Steve manages to get himself comfy. After all, he’s going to be here awhile - the rain is beating down mercilessly on the rooftop, a sharp tempo thrumming along the church walls. It’s numbing, serene. He isn’t the least bit inclined to leave this warm sanctuary to go to his freezing car anytime soon. 

 

Father Joseph is probably in the narthex. Sometimes, he emerges to relight the candles and bless the holy water but mostly he stays in the back, quiet and unobtrusive. Steve is usually happy to see him but also grateful for the respect he puts between the parishioners and God. He puts their privacy first.

 

Today, though, Steve is especially thankful the priest is nowhere in sight, because what he has to say to the big man up above isn’t something that deserves an audience. In fact, he really should never utter these words to  _ anyone, _ because they sum up exactly what’s wrong with him. And there’s plenty wrong with him. Even  _ he _ knows that.

 He’s not here to ask forgiveness, or to justify the offenses he plans to commit, he’s not here for himself at all.

 

He’s here to say goodbye.

 

Getting down on his knees, he begins to pray...

* * *

Somewhere nearby, Clint is throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. “How am I supposed to guard his life if he’s so damn eager for his number to be up?” the angel groans. “I don’t get it.”

 

Natasha shrugs, she’s sitting on the balustrade with her knees tucked under her chin, staring up at the stars. “He’s in love,” the demoness says as if it’s a worthy explanation. She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “What’s so hard to get?” 

 

“With  _ Death _ , Nat! Why can’t he be normal like other guys his age and fall in love with a car or something?” 

 

She raises an eyebrow. “Right, because that’s  _ perfectly _ normal.”

 

“It would be understandable. Now, he’s contemplating murder just so he can be with the Grim Reaper for eternity,” Clint says, even  _ he _ can’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “It’s as romantic as it is psychotic.”

 

Nat turns to him, brow furrowing with annoyance. “I don’t think it’s any stranger than the two of us. Besides,” she muses, looking over Clint’s shoulder at the beautiful cathedral. “I think it’s nice that he’s willing to sacrifice so much just for the object of his affection. You could learn a thing or two.”

 

Clint blinks. “Yeah, I’ll just file it in my drawer of severely disturbing romantic gestures. It’ll fit nicely along with my other collection of shit I want to repress.”

 

“How are they so different from us? Life and Death, demon and angel, seems like the same difference to me. It’s not like anyone has a say in who they fall in love with,” she argues. 

 

He inches closer to her. “You’re right, I didn’t choose,” he amends, sighing softly. “But I can’t say I’m not happy with the outcome.” His voice is low, his words careful. Clint takes her hand in his, there’s a slight burn as he touches her perpetually heated skin. He doesn’t mind though, in fact, he welcomes the faint sting.

 

Nat smirks. “You got lucky.”

 

“I won the lottery.”

 

“And I got a pompous ass.”

 

“You have a great ass.”

 

She rolls her eyes and levels his lips with hers. “Tell Elysium you’re going to be late.”

 

He grins. “Are you saying heaven can wait?” Natasha rolls her eyes, long acquainted with his puns and obscure references, and shuts him up with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay sweet guys!
> 
> Next chapter coming soon!


	6. Hold Me Tight ('Til I Can't Breathe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve attempts his first murder. It goes about as well as you'd think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all, deeply and truly. <333
> 
> Thank you.

 

"Pluck out mine eyes, hasten, attest...  
For I must know, art thou not death?"

\- Cradle of Filth, "A Gothic Romance (Red Roses for the Devil's Whore)"

* * *

 

There’s a girl who jogs in the park near his apartment every morning. At 6:45 on the dot she’s out there, doing her laps, earbuds in, lost to the world. She’s young, can’t be much older than eighteen. That’s all Steve knows. Still, it’s enough.

He doesn’t exactly have a reason for choosing her as his first victim. He supposes it’s because her moves are always predictable and she’s an easy target; she’s always out there by herself. She’s also a tiny thing; disposing her body will be as simple as losing a flower in a forest. 

It all seems rather cut and dry: all he has to do is wake up early, pretend he’s a fellow jogger interested in her routine, try to get her away from any curious eyes and then strike. A piece of cake. In fact, it’s so easy to talk himself into it that by the time morning comes, he’s already dressed and heading down the stairs of his apartment.

It’s 6:30 am and the park is deserted. So far, it can’t be any more perfect. 

He does a few stretches, playing the part of the seasoned fitness aficionado, waiting for her to pass by. Luckily he doesn’t have to wait long; in exactly fifteen minutes, like clockwork, she sprints past him.

His stomach twists into knots as he gets a glimpse of her small retreating form.  _ She’s basically just a kid.  _ For a second, he can’t do it. There’s so much he’d be taking from her if he were to carry on with this thoughtless act. 

But he has to do this. It’s just a life. People die every day. What’s one more life?

He lopes ahead. It takes him a bit to catch up with her but when he finally does, his eyes sweep along her face. She’s pretty, with wide, round eyes and delicate features. To the world, she’s probably a loving friend, a caring daughter, a kind neighbor. One of those people who bring light in this far too dark world. Someone who shines on the earth with goodness while people like him just shadow it with...evil.

He shudders and closes his eyes for a minute. The ground beneath his feet has stilled but he doesn’t care. His lungs are beginning to burn and his heart is racing from trying to keep up with her, but this is all paltry compared to the chaos happening in his head. 

What’s one more life?  _ What’s one more life? _

_ Thud!  _ His eyes fly open immediately upon hearing the sound. The girl, the poor girl, is lying on the ground, flat on her face, motionless. 

He runs to her side. 

“Ma’am, ma’am! Are you okay?” he cries. She remains unresponsive. 

Maneuvering her body so he can listen for her heartbeat, he gets on his knees. Too bad there’s no one around. No one to help…

“It’s going to be fine,” he reassures her unmovable form. 

Her face is deathly pale and under her eyes are dark smudges of purple. How had he not noticed before? 

She’s sickly. A pang of guilt punctures his heart; goddammit she’s only a kid. He’s not going to let it end like this. He  _ can’t  _ let it end like this.

“You know, you’re really fucking up my schedule. This isn’t cute,” a voice moans from god knows where. 

“Bucky?” Steve whispers.

“It’s her time to go. You just have to let things be.” There’s a biting chill that brushes along his skin, raising goosebumps across the exposed flesh and then Bucky’s standing beside him looking down at the girl.

Her tiny hand remains at her side, cold and lifeless, and as if compelled by an unexplainable force, Steve reaches for it. 

“She deserves more than this,” Steve says. There’s a lump in his throat that he just can’t seem to swallow.

Bucky sighs. “She has a bum ticker. This was inevitable.” He waits a beat then says: “I’m sorry, but I have to harvest her soul now.”

Steve gets to his feet immediately. “Please wait--”

“I should really do my job.” Bucky moves to get to the girl but Steve, without thinking, reaches out and touches him. It takes him a second to realize what he’s done and when he does, he’s expecting the air to be knocked out of his lungs and his body to go cold like the last time. He shuts his eyes, waiting for it. But nothing happens, instead, when he looks up, Bucky is the one who appears to be in pain. 

Steve’s hand is clasped tightly around Bucky’s wrist. The Reaper is blue and his perfectly smooth skin is beginning to crack like fractured porcelain, the way it had in Steve’s dream. But what is really shocking is Steve’s own skin. Glowing golden and bright like a halo hovering over an angel, Steve’s whole body radiates with light...

“You’re not taking her soul today,” is what he hears himself say.

Bucky doesn’t fight back nor does he speak. His face is a mix of both shock and horror. 

The girl stirs on the ground, but neither Steve nor Bucky is willing to tear their gazes from each other. 

When Bucky bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, it clicks for Steve--he’s hurting him. Dropping the Reaper’s hand immediately, Steve freezes. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, frantically.

Bucky’s eyes are wide and he keeps staring at Steve as if he’s never seen him before. At least, not like this.  “You’re not supposed to be able to do that.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” is all Steve says.

Bucky’s mouth is pulled down into a frown and his frosty blue gaze gives nothing away. Without another word, he vanishes.

“I think you saved my life,” the girl says, voice quivering with awe. “T-thank you.”

Steve isn’t paying her any attention. His gaze is locked on the spot where Bucky appeared just a second ago. He stares at his hands.  _ What on earth? _

“Who were you talking to?” she asks.

“Bucky! Bucky! Please, come back. I can fix this!” he yells at the sky. Naturally, this yields no results.

The girl edges closer until she is standing beside him. “So you’re insane? You’re insane and you saved my life. Yeah, that’s cool. Of course this happens to me.” She sighs. “Thank you, again, really I--”

“Don’t mention it,” Steve interrupts, turning to face her. “I mean, you really don’t need to mention it. I’m glad you’re alright.” He attempts to smile. He’s pretty sure he looks psychotic.

“How can I repay you? At least let me do that,” she whispers.

“You can fall on a knife,” he mutters under his breath.

“What?” she asks.

He steps away from her. “I said have a nice life! Take care of yourself!” And with that he scurries off, heading to his apartment where he can wallow alone in his misery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon!


	7. My Boy Builds Coffins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has his work cut out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so supportive! I appreciate the love! 
> 
> You all are so great, and I believe it's important for you to know that. <3
> 
> I thoroughly enjoy writing this story. Getting to see it grow and flourish makes me so happy, especially when I know I can share this enjoyment with you guys as well!
> 
> Please enjoy!

_“My boy builds coffins he makes them all day_   
_But it's not just for work and it isn't for play_   
_He's made one for himself_   
_One for me too_ _  
One of these days he'll make one for you..._”

 __\- ‘My Boy Builds Coffins’,_ _ Florence and the Machine

 

* * *

“Care to explain how this happened?” Pepper asks, her voice level and calm. It’s all an illusion because no matter how soft she speaks and how serene her facial expression appears, there are people in space who can tell she’s angry. It’s all in her gaze.

Her green eyes blaze with carefully restrained fury while her fingers strum a mindless beat against her fancy mahogany office desk. Everyone in the underworld is smart enough to stay clear of her when she’s like this, lest they want to face her wrath. Usually, as the Grim Reaper, Bucky’s busy harvesting souls or working on forming his list. His job gives him the perks of avoiding Pepper about 98% of the time. Today, however, Bucky doesn’t have that privilege.

He tries not to show any fear; it will only make her stronger. So, he straightens up in his seat and attempts to maintain eye contact. “Well, you see...it’s kind of a funny story…” Except Pepper isn’t laughing. Her eyes seem to almost glow with the heat of her anger.

“You _knew_ he could see you?” she questions.

“Well...yeah.”

“And you didn’t think to report him? As you know it’s unusual for humans to see Reapers.”

Bucky shrugs. “I knew that, but I thought he was just gifted or something. He’s certainly not normal.”

Pepper raises one blonde eyebrow. “Oh, he’s _far_ from normal. He’s a descendant of Asclepius.”

What little remaining composure Bucky has, falters. “Y-you mean, my pain in the ass stalker, is-is a healer? H-how? I thought we eliminated all of them.”

Pepper smooths her chignon down with a perfectly manicured hand. “Apparently not. Bucky, why didn’t you let me know about this? Do you have any idea how this makes me look as your superior? Or the risk you’ve put the other Reapers in? If this Steve person heals every dying life we try to take, then all hell will break loose. Literally!”

Bucky bites his lip. He’s never felt this small. “I can fix this.”

“How? The only way I see this being remedied is if you harvested his soul. That would be near impossible since he’s practically immune to your touch. Would _you_ kill him, if you could?” She leans in closer, cradling her chin with her palm. “Please tell me you can do at least that much.”

Bucky frowns. “On second thought, maybe I can’t.”

“And why not?” Pepper inquires through gritted teeth.

“Because if he dies then I’ll never get rid of him. He’ll haunt me for all eternity,” Bucky cries. “And there’s _no way_ I’m having that!”

Pepper’s furious eyes narrow into slits. “Then I’m sorry Bucky, but you leave me no choice.” Pressing the call button on her desk phone, she requests for Thor to come in.

The burly guy with the huge smile ambles in, his whole demeanor turning sour upon seeing Bucky.

“You wanted to speak to me, Pepper?”

Pepper sighs. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mutters under her breath. “Bucky, do you understand the consequences of your actions? Do you know what happens when you break Reaper law?”

Oh, Bucky knew the consequences quite well. “Wait, Pepper, please reconsider.”

She ignores him, turning to Thor who is back to his cheery self. Any news of Bucky being punished is music to his ears.

“I suppose you’ve won our little bet. Bucky has broken our top most law and as punishment for his transgressions, he has to be stripped of his title as the Grim Reaper. You get to bear his title now.”

Bucky freezes. “Does this mean I’m going to be just a regular Reaper?” He knows what will really happen, but that doesn't stop him from hoping Pepper will be lenient.

Thor laughs out loud and Pepper solemnly shakes her head. “This means you’re going to be a mortal again. All your powers will be removed and you will no longer be an immortal.”

“Pepper, please don’t do this!”

“I’m sorry, Bucky.”

Before he can plead for another chance, the world begins to spin on its axis. Both Pepper and Thor’s images erratically swim as his vision tries to adjust to the changing angle. A scream bursts to the surface and his hands fly to his head to stop the violent tugging and twisting.

After what feels like an eternity, Bucky stops trying to fight it and loses himself to the downward spiral...

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! More to come soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this chapter's so short, I promise the others will be longer. ;) 
> 
> Thank you for reading as always, stay awesome! 
> 
> Note: A lot has changed after the revisions. Hope you guys like the edits! The plot is still the same, so there's that. ;)


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